White Roses a.b

chapter 14

'Why is there so much pepper in this soup?' the Marchioness complained, pushing back her bowl. 'It's hardly edible.'

'I'm sorry, my lady,' said Abigail, whisking the offensive dish away. 'It was a new recipe – I believe the Duke of Tuskany gave it to us, a specialty of his own cook's making.'

The Marchioness wrinkled her nose. 'It's a miracle he hasn't starved.' She straightened the napkin in her lap while Ashley and her father sipped at their own soups without complaint.

Though, Ashley could admit, it was awfully peppery, and starting to burn her throat.

'So, Ashley?' her mother said. 'How did you find the tea party?'

Ash froze, her soup spoon lifted halfway to her mouth. She met her mother's anxious, hopeful grin with a nervous, innocent one of her own. 'I found it to be rather like the last tea party, and the one before that,' she lied, and choked down another spoonful. 'Would you pass the salt, please?'

Mary Ann stepped forward to bring the salt to her so her parents wouldn't have to reach over the tureens and gravy boats.

'Perhaps so, but did you speak with His Majesty?'

'Oh. Um. Why, yes, I did. He and I took a turn around the gardens.' She paused to ensure nothing she was about to relate would be condemning. 'We crossed paths with the new court joker and he entertained us with a beautiful melody on his flute.'

Silence. The grandfather clock that stood against the wall raised an arm to scratch beneath his grey mustache. Ashley glanced at him and wondered if the pepper was getting to the furniture.

'And?' her mother pressed.

'Oh, he's very talented.' Ash leaned forward over her bowl. 'Perhaps too talented, if you ask me. One might find it unnatural. To play the flute and the mandolin, and to know card tricks and magic tricks and riddles, and I hear tell he's even an adept juggler. It's enough to make the rest of us feel unaccomplished, and I don't think he needs to flaunt it all quite so much as he has, and after only two gatherings! Plus, there's something peculiar about that hat of his, don't you think? Something not quite . . .' She traced an invisible outline of the three-pointed hat with her spoon into the air. '. . . spatially accurate. I find it uncanny.' She looked at her unimpressed mother and her confused father and realized she'd been rambling. She jammed the soup spoon into her mouth.

'Well,' said her mother. 'That's all . . . interesting. What happened after the Joker entertained you?

She swallowed. 'Oh. Then we played croquet.'

'You and the Joker?'

'Y-yes. Well, and the King too. And a few others.'

Her mother sagged with relief. 'I hope you let him win.'

Ashley was proud that it wasn't a lie when she said, 'The King did win, as a matter of fact.'

As the soup was taken away, Abigail came forward to carve slices from a roast set atop a bed of roasted squash.

Her mother's eyebrows rose. 'And then?'

She thought. 'And then . . . I had some cake. Though if we're to be honest, it was a little dry. Oh – and Andy came by and played his flute some more once the game was over. The show-off.'

The melody had been beautiful, of course, and was still parading through her ears.

'Andy,' said her mother, and hearing his name in her voice made Ashley startle.